


Swordplay, Swords Play

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink (Card 1) [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Surprising Lack of Angst, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Denethor's A+ Parenting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Massage, Nearly Getting Caught, Rimming, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir has ~feelings~ about Faramir, and Denethor inadvertently encourages them. Whoops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swordplay, Swords Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acaramelmacchiato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/gifts).



> Advisory: Do not eat or drink while reading this fic. This is brought to you by the fact that I was rereading my own fic over before posting, came across a line - which I _knew_ was there, because I wrote it! - and nearly choked on the sweet I happened to have in my mouth at the time, which would probably be the most ridiculous fanfic-related death ever. And I very much don't want anyone reading this story to die while doing so, because then you wouldn't be able to give feedback. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> This also fulfils my Season of Kink square for rimming/licking.

"You need to see to your brother," Denethor said, joining Boromir at the window of the hall. In the courtyard, Faramir was half-heartedly practicing swordplay with one of his friends, casting a glance now and then up at the library windows on the other side of the yard. "If he goes on as he is, he will not be fit for any kind of command, and our men are few enough that we need all we can get."

Boromir inclined his head, acknowledging his father's words, with a sudden leap of feeling in his heart - expectation and worry battling within him, feelings long pushed away rising. "I feel he shows promise, Father," he said, as steadily as he could. "I will take over his training to ensure it is fulfilled." 

Denethor nodded and moved off, ascending the stairs. Boromir, after a few moments more watching his brother - who laughed as he was disarmed again - headed down the stairs, and out into the open courtyard, heart pounding, trying not to show how much he was affected. Faramir turned and greeted him with a bright smile. 

"Boromir! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" he said, picking up his sword with a graceful sweep of his arm. Boromir let his eyes linger on the movement, telling himself it was for training, not for other purposes. His hand went to the hilt of his own sword.

"Father has asked me to see to your training," Boromir said, and watched Faramir's face light up with genuine enthusiasm. "You've been neglected so far, but childhood's over, and we'll need you to take a man's part soon." Faramir's eyes were bright and he brought his sword up, holding it steadily in his hand. 

"I trust I have managed to learn some things, but I'm sure you will teach me everything," Faramir said, voice a little breathless, as Boromir drew his sword, and Faramir's friend backed off. 

"Let's see what you know, first of all," Boromir said, and lunged forward. 

The first parry was over quickly. Faramir showed energy and passion but was quickly disarmed. Boromir, unsurprised by this, told him to pick up the sword and try again, then began correcting his stance, the way he held the sword, the movements he made, slowly, over many bouts. 

At one point, he corrected Faramir's stance by lining him up against his own body, wrapping his arms around his brother. Faramir, shivering a little, leaned into him, dark hair brushing against his cheek, Boromir's hands over his. The touch was exhilarating, and Boromir wanted to go on showing his brother this kind of swordplay for the rest of time, his mouth nearly at Faramir's ear as he whispered instructions, his hands guiding Faramir's own in the graceful motion of his sword. 

It could not last of course, and soon enough Faramir had mastered the motion well enough that Boromir no longer needed to guide him so.

As the sun was setting, Faramir gave a somewhat pained sigh. He had been showing signs of tiredness for a little while now. Nevertheless he smiled up at Boromir, and Boromir smiled back, not wanting their time together to end. 

"Come with me," Boromir said as they sheathed their swords, and promptly led him away to his own rooms, which contained a bath much larger than the one Faramir had. He told himself it was to ease Faramir's soreness after the unaccustomed practice, and that he would do the same for any new recruit. Even as he thought the words he knew them to be a lie. 

His page was standing nearby when he arrived, and at a word from him, hastened to fill the bath with warm water, as Boromir carefully helped Faramir remove his sweaty clothing. Before long the bath was full and Faramir only wearing breeches. 

"Bring dinner for us here in an hour, please," Boromir said to the page. "We will not be dining in the hall tonight, as Faramir is weary and I must ensure that he learns the correct way to take care of himself after lessons in swordplay." The page nodded and darted out of the room, shutting the door behind himself. 

Boromir turned to look at Faramir, who was standing near the bath looking back at him, a faint smile crossing his features. "What is it?" he asked. 

"Will you be joining me?" Faramir said, and his voice held something of a teasing lilt within it. Against his will Boromir's gaze dipped to the warm smooth planes of Faramir's chest, golden in the sunset light spilling in from the windows. He struggled to answer like a brother would rather than a lover. 

"Surely you do not need my help in the bath these days, grown as you are," Boromir said, and even as he said the words they took on a new significance. Faramir raised an eyebrow. 

"Need, no," he said. "Want, very much yes." He beckoned with his hand, and Boromir found himself responding, walking over. Faramir's smile was so beguiling. Where had he learned so young how to be so seductive? And was he being truly seductive or simply playful? 

When Boromir was within reach, Faramir grabbed him by the belt and pulled him closer, laughing a little, glancing up at him with wide eyes. "Do not think I've missed how you look at me," he said then, and Boromir's heart clenched with fear. But Faramir did not hesitate to pull him ever closer, at last wrapping his arms around him, and leaning up to kiss him on the mouth. 

The touch of Faramir's lips against his own was utterly enticing and Boromir found himself deepening the kiss without even thinking about it, slipping into the open warmth of Faramir's sweet mouth and groaning against him. The kiss could have lasted days or seconds for all he knew and was soft and gentle, slow and sweet. When they pulled back and away from each other, Faramir's laughing mouth was faintly swollen, and Boromir could not resist kissing him again, quickly, and then again. 

"The water will get cold," Faramir said at last and stepped back, a bright smile on his face. He slipped his breeches down, displaying himself proudly without self-consciousness, and Boromir could at last see his little brother's impressive erection. He could barely restrain himself from dropping to his knees and taking Faramir in his mouth. 

Faramir stepped into the tub, and held out his hand to Boromir. "You are over-dressed for bathing, brother," he said, and Boromir hastened to remove his clothing as quickly as possible, leaving it on the floor. He took Faramir's hand and stepped into the bath. 

It was a few minutes of fumbling before they arranged themselves to their liking, Faramir between Boromir's legs, able to lean back against his chest and claim kisses whenever he liked, Boromir's arm around him. 

"I hope I have not been completely obvious," Boromir found himself saying once they were settled. Faramir grinned up at him. 

"Only to me, dear brother," he said. "And I have been watching you closely from my earliest days. You have nothing to fear - everyone else simply admires your protectiveness of me. People see what they want to see, by and large, and assume what they expect." 

"When did you become so perceptive?" Boromir asked, faintly amused. Faramir dipped his hand into the warm water and ducked his head. 

"About the same time you became so loving, yet distant," he said. "There was a brightness in your eyes when you looked at me that I could see nowhere else, and yet you would no longer look at me directly. The rest was simple deduction; the diagnosis, lovesickness, not at all unheard of between brothers or other close kin, Men and Elves alike." He laughed, resting his head back on Boromir's shoulder. "I have done much reading of late, eager to substantiate my theories about our feelings before I approached you with them. But today you were beaming simply to spend time with me, you blushed when you touched me, and you were hard when you pressed against me. It could be nothing else." 

Boromir bent his head and kissed Faramir's neck, worrying the skin very slightly with his teeth. Faramir let out a sharp gasp and relaxed back into it. Boromir's hand drifted across Faramir's chest, testing to find the kinds of touch that Faramir liked: a shiver at the faint brush of his fingers over a nipple, a squirm when Boromir slid his hand down his belly, through the light hair there, and reached to take hold of his erection. 

"I want to see you lost in pleasure," he murmured into Faramir's ear. "I have dreamed about this for so long." Faramir shivered and nodded furiously, spreading his legs a little more to allow Boromir better access. Faramir seemed to enjoy being touched exactly as Boromir himself preferred, and Boromir gripped him tightly, leaning over him and plundering his mouth while his hand worked Faramir's cock. His own erection was throbbing against Faramir's back, sliding slickly in the warm water. They both moaned into each other's mouths at the sensation and with a sudden wide-eyed gasp, as though he had not expected it, Faramir came, trembling and shaking in Boromir's arms, his seed spilling into the water. 

The sight of Faramir like that was overwhelming. His eyelashes fluttered as he shook with it and Boromir could take no more. Thrusting against the warm curves of Faramir's arse, he whispered something incoherent that could have been Faramir's name and spilled as well, catching Faramir's eyes opening to watch him fall. 

Faramir recovered quickly; Boromir was still shivering from aftershocks, eyes closed, when Faramir turned around in his arms and knelt between his legs in the water. "When did you tell the page to come back with dinner?"

Boromir's eyes flew open. "In an hour - oh. We cannot be found like this." Faramir shook his head and reached for the soap, quickly and efficiently washing himself, and then flipping the soap over to Boromir, with a look so merry that Boromir could not help but smile. "You will be the death of me, little brother!" he said, grinning. 

"Only in entirely pleasant ways," Faramir said, testing his muscles with a groan. "If you're not the death of me first! You put me through my paces today." He stretched out his arms, wincing. "I'm really quite sore." 

Boromir paused in washing himself off to admire Faramir openly in a way he never felt able to do before. "Temptation that you are, I'll give you a massage later. For now, we should get out." 

Faramir rose, dripping, and Boromir immediately wanted to tug him back down again. He resisted the urge manfully, standing up himself, and ensuring that Faramir was covered in warm towels and reclining on the couch, and that he was wearing clothes again, before the knock came at the door. 

Dinner was a strange and silently joyful affair. They smiled at each other across the low table, Faramir sitting on the couch bare-chested, a towel wrapped around his waist, Boromir on a chair opposite him, the food between them, and a servant or two emptying the bathwater and tidying the room generally while they ate. Boromir found he had a good appetite and that Faramir hungrily devoured whatever was put before him, licking his fingers with a teasing grin when the servants' backs were turned. The undercurrents of tension were so thick between them that Boromir almost wondered that the servants didn't pick up on it. 

It grew fully dark outside as they ate, and the lamplight in the room shone golden over Faramir's body and lit up his hair. The servants took their plates away and Boromir instructed his page to go to his rest, advising that he would have no further need of him tonight. Once everyone was out of the room, Boromir deliberately turned the lock on the door, and then walked back to where Faramir sat on the couch, smiling up at him. 

"You don't regret this, I hope," Faramir said, rising and looking into Boromir's eyes. 

"Not at all," Boromir said, stepping toward Faramir and leaning in to yank his towel away. Faramir laughed as the towel fell and kissed him quickly.

"I promised you a massage," Boromir said after a moment of tangling his hands in Faramir's hair and kissing him for all he was worth. 

"So you did," Faramir said, moving lightly out of the circle of Boromir's arms and dancing, teasingly, away from him to fall forward on the warm furs of the bed and glance back over his shoulder, legs spread, arse up, skin gleaming in the lamplight. 

Boromir had never removed his clothes so quickly before. He reached for the massage oil and climbed on top of Faramir, settling down astride his hips, just where his erection could slide between the cheeks of Faramir's arse. Tipping some of the oil into his hand, he let it warm for a moment, then spread it over Faramir's back, kneading him carefully. Faramir groaned and let his head fall down onto his crossed arms. 

"What we did in the bath," Boromir began, hesitantly, "have you ever done that with anyone else?" 

Faramir chuckled. "Not that exactly, but yes, I have. You're not my first."

Boromir sighed, half with relief and half regret. "You're not mine either. I've had several lovers, all male. I think our father despairs of me ever finding a bride."

"Don't worry, brother," Faramir said. "I do well enough with men or maidens; I'll marry in your stead."

Boromir leaned forward, changing the tempo of the massage to long heavy strokes up and down Faramir's back. "If you plan to marry, we should not be doing this." 

Faramir raised his head and glanced back quickly. "There's time enough for marriage some years down the line. I will always be yours and you mine, no matter who I wed, that I promise." He moved his hips under Boromir just a little restlessly. "This feels so good, but I want more."

Boromir gave a last long stroke to Faramir's back and then raised his hands. "What do you want?" He took hold of his own cock, using the remnants of the oil to slick it up, and edged back a little, further down Faramir's legs. 

Faramir audibly caught his breath in what was a half-gasp. "You've fucked men before, I suppose?" he asked. "Or had it done to you?" 

"I have," Boromir said. "Both ways, and enjoyed both." He let his cock slide out of his hands, and pressed his thumbs to Faramir's arse, parting his cheeks. "Would you like it if I -?" He bent down and _licked_ Faramir's hole, enjoying the clean sweet flavour of his skin. Faramir gasped loudly and pushed back against him, rising to his elbows. His cock swung hard and heavy beneath him, and Boromir slipped his hand between Faramir's legs to stroke it firmly. 

Faramir's breath was coming in gasps, and he was making small high-pitched noises along with frantic encouragements to Boromir, when there was a sudden firm knock on the door. 

"Fuck!" Faramir choked out in a whisper, and Boromir drew back as swift as if his hand and mouth had been burnt on Faramir. 

"Hide under the covers," Boromir said very quietly, and got up from the bed, pulling on his breeches as quickly as possible. The knock came again as Faramir burrowed further into the bed, hiding his face and as much of himself as he could with furs. Boromir extinguished every candle save one, and went to the door, carrying the last candle in its holder. 

His father stood there, a bored-looking retainer behind him holding a lamp. "Is it not early yet for you to sleep?" Denethor said, peering curiously into the dark room. 

"I was weary," Boromir said, trying to will his erection to go down faster. "I spent the afternoon with Faramir, as you instructed, and he has now gone to bed, wearier than I." He gave a sigh and tried to act calm and casual. "I have just returned from a walk about the City and only went to bed a few moments ago. What is it you wished to see me about?" 

But Denethor was still peering into the room, with that keen eyesight he always had. "Do you have a girl in here with you?" he asked. "I thought I heard a woman moaning earlier." 

Boromir was flustered. "No - ah - perhaps?" 

Denethor gave him a bright smile, an expression so unusual for him that Boromir felt like he was looking at a different person for a moment. "You do! My son, finally experiencing the pleasures of women! Not any too soon, either." He punched Boromir lightly in the shoulder. "Clearly you're doing something right, if she sounds like that too. Nothing serious, I hope? You wouldn't take a woman to your bed if you meant to marry her without introducing me first, I'm sure." 

"No, no," Boromir said, a little frantically. "She - I - it's not like that at all - there are _no_ plans to marry!" 

Denethor was still absurdly cheerful. "Well, then. What's the harm? Get back to it, my son. I had something to discuss with you but can easily save it for tomorrow." He gave Boromir a firm pat on the back, and winked at him. "Proud of you, my son. Now, go on, give it to her hard!" He signalled to the retainer, who moved off down the hall, and turned away, following. Boromir shut and locked the door as quickly as possible, and stood against it for a moment, shuddering in horror, then made his way back over to the bed. 

He set the candle down on the table, and Faramir reached out, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him into the bed. "Father thinks I'm a girl?" he hissed, curling up next to Boromir. 

"Well, I thought it was better than me saying _I was just about to fuck my brother into oblivion, so if you would kindly depart_ ," Boromir said, recovering his humour and letting his hands wander all over Faramir's smooth cool skin. Faramir's touch was making him hard again so fast he could scarcely believe it. 

"My turn to be on top," Faramir said, rising up and settling back down on top of Boromir, their cocks meeting and sliding against each other. Both groaned at the sensation. "Shall we get to the actual fucking, at last?" He reached for the massage oil on the bedside table, and spread it thickly over his fingers. "If Father thinks I'm a girl, then best I play the girl's part, I think." Giving Boromir a mischievous look, he dipped the hand between his own legs, head falling back as he prepared himself. With the last of the oil, he gave a teasing stroke or two to Boromir's erection, and then carefully lowered himself down onto Boromir. 

The tight slick heat of Faramir was almost too much to take. In the candlelight, his skin seemed to glow, and he moved gracefully up and down on Boromir's cock for a moment, then leaned down to kiss him. Boromir began thrusting as they kissed, surging up into him. It was like he had been aroused for days, pulse thundering, sweat dripping, body arching toward the inevitable peak. Faramir was stroking his own cock, gasping into Boromir's mouth. 

After all the waiting, it seemed too much far too soon, but they were both together, and Boromir tumbled over the edge into blissful oblivion, hips stuttering against Faramir, cock deeply lodged inside him, even as he heard Faramir give a low moan and felt him shuddering, wet droplets of seed landing on Boromir's chest. They were both breathing hard, exhausted, and Faramir slid down off of Boromir, landing on the furs beside him, panting. 

"Somehow I expected that to be more difficult," Faramir mused after a while. "Or that I'd feel bad about it, or that you would feel guilty and ashamed. Or worse, that we'd be caught, arrested, banished, disinherited." 

"Those things could still happen," Boromir said practically. "I feel neither guilty nor ashamed, though." He turned toward Faramir, drawing him close and kissing his brow. "I love you, little brother, in every way, with all that I am, and I refuse to feel guilt or shame for that." 

"I as well," Faramir said. "I feel wonderful." He smiled up at Boromir. "Contented and happy, here in your arms at last." 

Boromir drew his arms closer around Faramir, and drowsed lazily, dreaming of many days and nights spent just like this one.


End file.
